"Alas, my lord, I fear that ornament was never mine."
"Yet you must wear it now, my daughter. I have heard it is an ornament greatly admired by husbands."
Standing in the sunlight, all unconscious of her wondrous beauty, she opened startled eyes on him; then dropped to her knees upon the turf. "Your blessing, Reverend Father," she said, and there was a wild sob in her voice. "Oh, I entreat your blessing, on this my bridal day!"
The Bishop laid his hands upon the bright coronet of her hair, and blessed her with the threefold Aaronic blessing; then raised her, and bade her walk with him across the turf.
Into the arbour he led her, beneath a cascade of fragrant yellow roses. There, upon a rustic table was spread a dainty repast—new milk, fruit freshly gathered, white rolls, and most golden pats of butter, the dew of the dairy yet upon them.
"Come, my daughter," said Symon of Worcester, gaily. "We of the Church, who know the value of these early hours, let us break our fast together."
"Is it magic, my lord?" she asked, suddenly conscious of unmistakable hunger.
"Nay," said the Bishop, "but I was out a full hour ago. And the dairy wench was up before me. So between us we contrived this simple repast."
So, while the bridegroom and old Deborah still slumbered and slept, the bride and the Bishop broke their fast together in a bower of roses; and his eyes were the eyes of a merry schoolboy out on a holiday; and the colour came back to her cheeks and she smiled and grew light-hearted, as always in their long friendship, when he came to her in this gay mood.
Yet, presently, when she had eaten well, and seemed strengthened and refreshed, the Bishop leaned back in his seat, saying with sudden gravity: